


The Name Game

by vilnolin



Series: X5REVISED [1]
Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Gen, x5revised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vilnolin/pseuds/vilnolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the X5Rs' first field mission post Reindoctrination, and 494 doesn't like working with a bunch of numbers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name Game

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel  
> 

_BOOM._ The mortar hit shook the remains of the concrete structure so hard it sent a piece of the crumbling ceiling smashing into the ground not four feet from his scuffed and dusty boots. 494 forced himself awake, blinking away the crust that always seemed to try to seal his eyes shut in dusty environments, resisting the urge to pull a hand away from his P90 to wipe at his face.  
            “I was just about to wake you.” 494 blinked slowly towards the voice, cursing taking the prescribed regimen of Manticore vitamins that morning. To his left was the only other surviving 49 clone, a hunt and track derivative mixed with black bear; 496. “Hell of a wake up call.” 494 rolled his eyes, pushing his helmet out of his face as 496 settled in against the wall next to him. “How long till the dose is out of your system?”  
            “Stupid of me to even take it.” 494 flinched as another mortar hit rocked the concrete behind him. “I’ll be good in a couple.”  
            “Sure that’s gonna be good enough?” 496 questioned, raising a black, soot smeared eyebrow. 494  _hated_  him, and the unfeeling thing Manticore had twisted him into. At thirteen, he was pushing 600’s height, and 600 had a whole  _year_  on them.  
            Maybe 494 kinda hated him cause 496 was taller too. By an inch. Maybe. “I’ll be alright. I’m  _always_  alright.”  
            496 just sighed, scrunching lower to the ground as another mortar shell rocked their diminishing shelter. “I’m pretty sure they know we’re here, 494.”  
            494 couldn’t help the expression of mock surprise. “Ah, was that a joke, 496?”  
            “No, sir.”  
            “Of course not.” 494 frowned to himself. “Where’s the rest of the unit?”  
            “Communications-511 is at base with 600 holding point guard with 211. 453 is pinned down with her unit opposite –poor decision sending 472 out with her, by the way. The only good thing is 105 is backing them up.” 496 frowned. “They send us out with the worst mix of the unit, and expect miracles. This is fucking Pakistan. I wish  _I_  had taken our vitamins this morning.” He gave a little shudder, first real show of emotion that 494 had seen since (before  _They Escaped_ ) they had gotten out of psy-ops.  
            494 risked a hand to grip 496’s. “You’re gonna be fine, Felix.”  
            496 tensed at the name, and 494 knew why; with the harsh light of Reindoctrination still fresh in his mind even though it had happened two years ago, still screaming at him to forget his name. He couldn’t remember his, but he never forgot theirs.  
            “I don’t know about that.” 496 grumbled, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “One of the marines just shit himself. The last hit wasn’t  _that_  close.”  
            “Your contempt for the human race is admirable.”  
            “They make war and then they can’t even do it properly. These marines were laughing at Colonel Lydecker when he brought us in this morning, and now their shitting themselves while a bunch of, quote, kids, end quote, are kicking their enemies’ collective ass. Or are about to.” 496’s lip curled. “The charges are set, by the way.”  
            494 slapped the back of his helmet, jostling the sand goggles off their perch. “That is something you tell me right away, dumb ass.”  
            496 scowled at him, snapping his goggles back onto his helmet. “ _You_  know better than to take Manticore’s drugs before a drop, and yet I found myself waking you up. I wonder why I forgot.”  
            494 resisted the urge to hit his clone, just barely. He was trying to  _encourage_  the sarcasm, for god’s (or whatever) sake. Instead, he changed subject completely, checking his watch for the mission clock, and still finding it lagging far behind where he wanted it to be. They were still taking mortar hits and 453’s unit was still pinned down as far as he knew. “You remember everyone’s names?”  
            496 stilled, looking like he half suspected it to be a trap. “Maybe.”  
            494 gave a half shrug, and forced himself up to his knees, chancing a glance around the diminishing concrete shell they were using for cover. Almost immediately, there was another mortar hit, and he felt a hand on the back of his BDU, yanking him back behind cover. “Thanks. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”  
            496 rolled his eyes. “Smart-ass. And not everyone’s names.” He looked almost guilty. “Some were easier to forget.”  
            “Like yours?” 494 half hoped he said no.   
            “First one I lost. I almost didn’t recognize it when you…” 496 sighed, looking almost relieved when the mortar strikes started up again. “You?”  
            494 held his tongue for a long moment. “I know the whole unit, but me and 211. I reach for her name, but all I get is her traitor twin, Jondy.”  
            496 frowned, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think I ever knew her name…she wasn’t in our unit Before. I know yours though, Alex.”  
            The name sent a chill down his spine as it both resonated and echoed in the empty spot where his sense of ‘self’ once had been. “Did it feel this weird when we first named ourselves?”  
            “It was liberating.” 496 snorted. “Ironic, now.” They sat there, musing, for a long while, 494 watching the minutes slowly count down on his watch.  
            At T minus three minutes thirty eight seconds, 494’s radio sprang into life; “511 relaying message from 453: We are clear, mission is go. Repeat, Clear, mission is go.”  
            “Rodger that, 511, proceeding to target Alpha Foxtrot Whiskey, operatives Four Niner Four and Four Niner Six with Marine unit attachment engaging. Stand by.” 494 enunciated, making sure he was heard over the not-so friendly fire behind him. 496 frowned at him, taking a moment and going as blank as he had been before. “Felix, I need you on this.”  
            “Get the freakin’ humans, 494.” 496 grumbled, popping up from his cover to shoot out at the people relentlessly shooting at them. “And my designation’s 496, Alex!”  
            494 grinned at him before re-securing his gun around his shoulders, and then diving from their cover to the fox hole nearly a yard away. Halfway into his landing, he wished he hadn’t; clearly the humans weren’t as quick as them, nor as intelligent to keep their heads down. He had landed on several unfortunate soldiers who wouldn’t be returning to their homes.  
            His sudden appearance had also sparked alarm in the remaining marines who had bunkered in for death or worse. Even now as he pulled himself into a crouch, hands raised to show he wasn’t armed, they weren’t lowering their guns.  
            Then someone called out, “It’s one of those Air Force kids!”  
            494 frowned. “I believe he called us the  _elite_  that the Air Force had to offer.” He dropped his hands, preferring them still attached to his body rather than possibly shot off by the bullets overhead. “Mission’s a green light. We’re moving out in two minutes.”  
            The men just laughed at him. “We’re pinned down and we lost half our men.” The man 494 presumed was their CO informed him.  
            494 shrugged, flicking off the safety and glancing at his watch. “Then we’re going without you.”   
            Before they could protest, the countdown clock hit zero, and he was scurrying out of the fox hole, catching 496 in his peripheral vision. The two blurred four yards forward, just behind the first line of enemy troops, and both opened fire, only to be joined by three more guns just a second or two behind them as 453’s unit hit the same line from the opposite side. The line was down in seconds.  
            496 hit a button, and the supply truck that the marines had forced the X5Rs to ride in when they had been ambushed went up spectacularly—in the midst of the camp the enemy soldiers had dragged it to with hopes of acquiring the tiny super soldiers. 494 flashed him a thumbs up, and was rewarded with a flicker of the manic grin that Felix used to sport so often.  
            It hit him in a part of his chest where he was used to cold stethoscopes and electrodes attached to EKGs, not emotions. The ground suddenly was rushing towards him, and he barely got his hands under him to stop himself from eating sand. 105—hair wrapped back in a turban rather than a helmet like she was supposed to be wearing—was un-phased from her dive into his back, and glared at him from behind her goggles. “Kept you from ending up on an autopsy table. Head in the  _game_ , Al—494!” He caught her wrist, keeping her from moving too far away; she was a year older than him but small for her age.  
            “You remember?” He demanded, ducking as fire came their way. She nodded warily. “Not the time, but I remember too, Kee-”  
            She shook her head wildly, cutting off his attempt to refresh her memory. “Please don’t.” She whispered, eyes wide as she scrambled close to avoid another brush of incoming fire.   
            494 snarled to himself, hating to see 105 put up that blank face he had become so familiar with the past two years. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t hesitate when this was a live fire test, Manticore’s version of a final exam on field tactics in high risk situations; a drop into an actual live conflict zone. “Let’s get in there.”  Already, 453 and 496 were flanking him, coming up on their position ready to make the next stage. 494 wasn’t surprised that 472 wasn’t there yet. A glance back at 453 confirmed that 472 was down, he couldn’t be sure how bad it was. At the moment, he didn’t really care; his mission objective was in sight.  
            The metallic bunker was half hidden by sand and gun fire, but 494 knew his entire team saw it. “Eyes on Alpha Foxtrot Whiskey, do you copy, Com Five One-One?” He called into his radio. A moment later, he was pulling on 496’s belt, forcing him to remain in position rather than rush headlong into the mark. It was tempting…  
            “Rodger that, Team Leader. Files suspected to be in a safe near the rear of the building. Go.” 511 replied over the radio. 494 didn’t like that there was gun fire in the background of his transmission too.  
            “105, looks like there’s a safe in there for you.” He said, turning to her. He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t smile at him, but 496 elbowed her for him. At least he had gotten through to someone today. “We gotta get this finished; they’re coming under fire back at camp.”  
            “And yet, somehow, Lane’s twin managed to lead his unit to freedom. Obviously,  _he_  got the smarts.” 453 muttered, belly-crawling forward.  
            494 smothered the grin threatening to show on his dirt-streaked face, and followed her lead. The four of them made their way slowly from the line towards the bunker, and 494 thought they were actually going to make it scot free—  
            The explosion sent him flying into 453, landing heavily on her, helmets hitting against each other and thankfully saving them both from concussions, but 494 was already scrambling to his knees, seeking out the rest of the team. 105 was batting at fires on 496’s uniform, though 496 was doing a good job of smothering them himself whilst rolling on the ground. 494 gave a sharp whistle, and the two looked over, 496 pulling aside the remains of his gear vest to reveal bruises and some nasty looking lacerations; the kid had just barely rolled to avoid a tossed hand grenade but his vest had taken most of the damage. It was gonna make the last bit of crawl a pain though. But 496 was grinning through the pain, even as he fingered a piece of shrapnel and yanked it out, gritting his teeth at the rush of blood. He looked pointedly down at the hand grenades at his own belt, and then back at 494, grinning again.  
            494 felt a flash of panic—if bringing up his  _name_  had reverted Felix to  _kamikaze_  mode—but 496 (no, this was definitely, 100%  _Felix_ ) was pulling out the pins with his teeth, and giving the six grenades a good shake before standing and tossing them along the enemy line gathering in front of the bunker. Two exploded in the air, forcing a majority of the soldiers down, but one got a shot off, catching the thirteen year old transgenic in the shoulder and spinning him as he went down—still laughing to himself as the entire ground rocked when the last four impacted, spraying them with sand and bits of enemy soldiers.  
            494 gestured for 105 to smack Felix; she was closer. “That’s our opening.” He yelled to 453, who was giving Felix a thumbs up from behind 494.  
            She quickly hid the signal, pretending to scowl at her unit mate. “Stupid, stupid move, getting himself shot like that. Can tell he’s your clone.”  
            “Get the shakes, Sam.” 494 muttered.  
            “You wish.” She tapped him with the butt of her P90, hitting a spot he’d  _much_  rather her have not (because it’s not like he could  _retaliate_  or anything. Stupid girls). And he awkwardly was left to follow her. A moment later, he heard both Felix and 105 behind them.  
            They burst head on into the bunker, 494 barely feeling a bullet wing his left arm as he paused to reload, the three of them trying to cover 105 as she darted to the safe, ready to start cracking it. By the time they had cleared the room, she had it open, the files tucked into her rucksack and 494 had them on the move out, Felix in the middle of their group since his chest had started bleeding worse.  
            They followed him along a slightly West-bound path, away from the surviving Marines who were still firing at an outpost which was no longer operational, and headed towards the quickest route back to base. 472 was already lying on the path, bullet wound to the right quad preventing him from doing more than a slow crawl. 494 paused only to scoop him into a fireman’s carry, ignoring the complaints from the younger transgenic and giving the order to blur it back to camp.  
            He was glad they were all too exhausted to keep running four yards out; the firefight was massive. It took 472 two kicks to his chest to make him realize that the other wanted to be put down as 494 stared over the dune at their base camp. “511, do you copy?” It seemed pointless, calling into the radio. The communications tower the marines had set up was in flames, and the tent that they had left X5R-511 in a scant eight hours ago was nothing more than smoldering ashes. “511, do you copy?”  
            “Uh, Alex, I think we may have lost base camp.” 105 said, looking rather nervous. “I don’t think 511 can answer.”  
            Felix reached out to him, offering him a hand, but 494 pulled away from him, nearly crushing his radio, “Biggs! Damnit! Answer the fucking radio!”  
            There was a long run of static, and Alex hung his head, fingers twitching on the frequency dial, not ready to give up on one of his best friends.  
            To his surprise, 453 placed a hand on his shoulder. “Keegan and I are fine. We’ll go in and check for survivors.” She ignored 105’s tense at her name, and continued. “Maybe you should head back and grab those marines, let them know they’re not fighting anyone over there.”  
            Alex shook his head. “I could give two fucks about those marines; they’re still firing  _down there_ , I’m not sending you two in.”  
            At that, 105 ripped off her rucksack, and shoved it into Alex’s shoulder, hard enough to make him wince, and the small scab to break, releasing more blood. “Too bad, we’re not asking for permission. Get this back to Deck, I’m not having our asses fail.” She flashed him a half grin ( _There’s the Keegan we knew_ ), and grabbed Sam’s shoulder, pulling her along. Neither looked back, and only Felix made a noise at their abrupt departure.  
            However, Alex stared down at the bag, rending it between his fingers, and looked at the other two wounded, 496 and 472 ( _we were once Alex, and Felix and Devon_ ). “I’m not planning on waiting for them.” He said, dropping the knapsack in the sand, and reloading his P90.  
            Felix grinned. “You’re the CO, boss.” He was already clipping more grenades to his belt. Alex half wondered where the hell he got all of them, since Lydecker only standard issued three each.  
            Only 472—Devon—was pouting. “I’ll stay here. My leg is…” He made a face, poking at the makeshift splint with one finger. “Guard the loot.” He offered up a smile to Alex though. “I knew you remembered though. I  _knew_  it.”  
            That was all Alex needed to go diving into the valley between the dunes, gun blazing and generally wreaking havoc to find the rest of his unit mates.  
            He and Felix caught up to Sam and Keegan by the burning communications tower, where they were helping a beaten up 600—Lane. He looked like hell, half conscious, and bleeding from at least two bullet wounds they could see. That didn’t bode well for Biggs or 211.  
            Alex risked the radio again. “Biggs, you better be alive.”  
            To his complete surprise, the answer came from the sand next to him, half buried and coughing; “I half wish I wasn’t! Ow, can you help?”  
            “Biggs!” Alex dropped to his knees, pulling sand away from Biggs’ small frame, with help from Sam, as both Felix and Keegan stood guard from the still firing troops on either side. “What the fuck happened?”  
            “Concussion missile. Sent me into a dune. What’s it look like?” Biggs grumbled, spitting out a mouthful of sand. “Hit the tower dead on.”   
            Alex offered a hand, and helped him to his feet. “Were you able to signal Manticore?”  
            “Pick up is a click south of here in…oh, twenty minutes. We can head out, we got everybody.” Biggs looked at the ground. “211 got hit by a sniper. She bled out before Lane could get to her.”  
            Alex clenched down on the mourning he was feeling; it was better served later, there were living to attend to now. The pick up was only a click away, they could  _do this_.  
            He wasn’t sure until they were all nearly passed out, unconscious, strapped in, on their way back to Gillette, Wyoming. There was sand in places he never knew he had, and he had a bullet hole in his shoulder, but there was something else he had the X5R-494 hadn’t had in years; he had his name.  
            He had to bleed out across a desert with half his unit to get it, but if that was what it took to get back what Manticore stole, then so be it. He’d do it again. He’d go back and find 211’s name.  
            No one would ever die with just a designation again. 


End file.
